


Christmas, 2011

by JJK



Series: Life, Interrupted [12]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/M, For once everything was happy, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 02:24:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJK/pseuds/JJK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was something they’d been trying to organise for years, but families and work had always managed to get in the way. Somehow this year everything had to come together, and here they were on Christmas Eve, piled into Enjolras and Grantaire’s house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas, 2011

**Author's Note:**

> For [Kim](http://combeferree.tumblr.com/), who wanted to see some Christmas fluff (and more of Blake).  
> I wrote this in a hurry to post before Christmas, so please excuse any mistakes (I didn't really have time to edit it!)  
> I hope you're all having a wonderful Christmas :))

_Christmas Eve, 2011 (Enjolras is 36, Grantaire is 39)_

Thick snow fell outside the window, carpeting the streets with a blanket of white. Blake watched mesmerised from Grantaire’s arms with her nose and hands pressed against the glass, and a complete look of awe etched into her features. Grantaire’s heart swelled as he watched her; so engrossed in tracking the clumps of snowflakes as they drifted to the ground, swirling slightly in the wind. 

It was only mid-afternoon, but already dusk was gathering and Christmas lights from up and down the street flashed brightly in the gloom, illuminating the snow in reds and greens. 

“Snoh,” she said softly, still not quite in command on the ending ‘w’ sound. She turned to Grantaire and blinked up at him, eyes wide as she pointed outside to make sure he’d seen the snow and was appreciating at much as she was. 

“Yes, snow,” he agreed leaning closer and nodding with a huge grin plastered on his face. 

Happy that he was also correctly enjoying the snow she turned back to window and began to bounce up and down, knees bobbing and pyjama covered feet stomping up and down on Grantaire’s knees. 

“Hey there, Trouble,” the sofa dipped as Courfeyrac settled into the sofa. He tipped his head back to catch Blake’s eyes which lit up at the sight of him. She bounced up and down in earnest, arms reaching out towards him. 

Grantaire let her go; chuckling as she climbed into Courfeyrac’s lap and began poking at the huge reindeer eyes on his gaudy Christmas sweater. 

“Snoh,” she told him as well, punctuating it with a prod at the reindeer’s nose. 

“I know!” he replied, managing to sound like it was the best thing ever, and not going to make travelling home a nightmare. Although, being Courfeyrac, Grantaire wouldn’t be surprised if he still thought snow _was_ the best thing ever, even after living in Chicago for fourteen years. He watched as Courfeyrac swept a hand across Blake’s forehead, brushing the soft blonde curls from her face. They looked nothing alike, and really it would have been impossible for them too, but already their mannerisms were the same. It was obvious she was Courfeyrac’s daughter. 

When the headlights of a car swept across the window, and an engine stilled to silence, both sets of eyebrows flew into their hairlines and a small questioning gape decorated each face. Blake blinked up at Courfeyrac whilst he peered out of the window. 

“The Pontmercy’s are here!” he announced with a grin. 

Sweeping Blake more securely in his arms and resting her on his hip, Courf leapt to his feet and dashed to meet them at the door. 

“Welcome, welcome!” he was calling from the hall. “Hello there, George, wow that’s an awesome Reindeer outfit! And Fantine – what are you? Hermione? Of course! Very festive.” 

It was true, when they came spilling into the living room George was dressed in a reindeer onesie, replete with antlered hood a flashing red nose. He made it a few steps into the room before he was overcome with shy embarrassment and hid himself behind Marius’ legs. Fantine however skipped into the room, robe swirling behind her, waving her wand around and saying gibberish. With Marius’ dark hair and Cosette’s curls she did make a wonderful Hermione, and apparently – Cosette was telling Courfeyrac – after they’d started reading the books to her a few weeks ago she’d begun insisting that everyone call her Hermione and it was only with great difficulty that they managed to get her to wear anything other than the Gryffindor uniform (and even then she insisted on wearing the cloak over everything else). 

“At least she doesn’t want to be a princess,” Enjolras chuckled. “Good to see you Marius.” 

“Yeah, sorry we’re late. The snow’s clogging up the roads.” 

“Snoh!” Blake chimed in helpfully, bouncing herself on Courf’s hip. 

“I don’t think we’ll be able to stay all that long.” He unwound his scarf and shrugged off his coat, accidentally shaking snow onto the carpet. “Sorry,” 

“At least you made it.” Grantaire grinned, pushing out from his chair and taking Marius’ coat from him. “Feuilly’s running late, and Joly’s been roped into a late shift,” 

Other than that everyone was here, which was a rather impressive feat. It was something they’d been trying to organise for years, but families and work had always managed to get in the way. Somehow this year everything had to come together, and here they were on Christmas Eve, piled into Enjolras and Grantaire’s house. Christmas music was playing softly from the stereo in the corner, battling for prominence over the children’s movie playing on TV – which Bahorel and Bossuet were engrossed in. Musichetta and Jehan were dancing around the kitchen, apparently cooking, and apparently wanting no one’s help. Grantaire had a feeling they wouldn’t be eating a very traditional meal, but no one was about to complain. 

Combeferre was dozing in an arm chair, his glasses slipping off his nose slightly. He’d come straight from a fourteen hour shift so Grantaire didn’t blame him. Fourteen hours of anything would be enough to render him unconscious, let alone fourteen hours of dealing with intense trauma on Christmas Eve. Grantaire was in half a mind to let him sleep, but on his way back from hanging the coats in the hall cupboard he stopped to wake him gently, before Fantine-Hermione pounced on him and gave him a heart attack. 

Combeferre bolted awake, blinking against the confusing lights of the Christmas tree. He glanced up at Grantaire, momentarily disorientated. Pushing his glassed back up his nose he ran a hand through his hair and yawned, giving Grantaire a sleepy smile of appreciation. Sure enough Fantine twirled her way across the living room shooting imaginary spells at the Christmas tree and looking for an empty lap. Spotting Combeferre she made a beeline for him and began poking at his glasses with her wand. 

“Kitchen though here?” Cosette caught Grantaire, holding out a stack of Tupperware bowls. “We brought some snacks along with us.” 

“Yeah, just through the double doors,” Grantaire pointed to the end of the hall. “Not sure if Jehan’ll let you in though, he seems to have some elaborate plans,” 

Cosette just smiled knowingly, leaning to press a kiss to Grantaire’s cheek. “Good to see you again, thanks for having us round.” 

“Pleasure,” he grinned, trying to impress how genuinely he felt it. Cosette seemed to know. She bushed her hand against his arm as she moved towards to kitchen with the mysteriously filled Tupperware dishes. 

Unlike Grantaire who had offered to help (and Courfeyrac who had been banned) Cosette was freely granted access to the kitchen and after a few minutes her singing voice was heard melodising with Jehan’s. 

“I guess we’re best leaving them to it,” he laughed, ruffling his hair and glancing around the living room. “Can I get anyone a drink?” 

= 

Dinner was definitely not traditional, but it was probably all the better for it. There was a glazed ham and roasted potatoes, but there were also other dishes even Grantaire couldn’t begin to name. Regardless, they tasted divine. 

Somehow they managed to squish around the dining room table, on a mismatch of chairs, with Fantine bouncing on Musichetta’s knee whilst Cosette tried to entice George to eat something – which was a little difficult considering he was hiding under his hood which his face pressed into her chest. 

Crackers were pulled, terrible jokes shared and paper crowns were worn – Enjolras had been slipped enough wine that Grantaire was able to silence his impending anti-capitalist rant with a simple hand to the knee. 

Joly turned up part way through the meal, nose tinged pink with cold, and managed to squeeze onto the piano stool already being shared between Combeferre and Bossuet. 

Feuilly arrived not long after and began drinking quickly to catch up with the merry tipsy-ness that Bahorel and Grantaire were enjoying. 

Everything was loud and a little chaotic, but it felt so warm and the atmosphere so welcoming. Nothing had ever felt so much like home. 

Sprawled around the living room, digesting what had been an interesting but wonderful meal, with a fire crackling away in the background and traditional Christmas tunes adding a layer of soft background noise, Grantaire felt truly at peace. It wasn’t something he’d felt in a long time, not since he’d first realised Travelling would be a constant unwelcome interruption in his life, not since his mother died and his world was torn upside down, not since… he glanced across to Enjolras, whose head was tucked into his shoulder a blissful smile on his face. Grantaire threaded his fingers between their bodies and gave Enjolras’ hand a gentle squeeze, relishing the feel of the cool metal band even after all these years. 

“It’s been an interesting year,” Combeferre said softly, cutting smoothly through the quiet lull of the room. 

“But a good year,” Feuilly added from his spot on the floor by the fire, “for the most part.” He glanced at Combeferre, who dropped his gaze but smiled. 

Courfeyrac knocked his head back against Combeferre’s legs comfortingly, arching his neck back to give him a wide smile. It earned him a hair ruffle from Combeferre– much to Courf’s displeasure, and Jehan’s amusement. 

“And I couldn’t think of a better bunch to spend it with,” Grantaire smiled from the sofa. 

“Why, R,” Bahorel grinned, “that sounded almost sentimental.” 

“It’s Christmas,” he smirked, raising his glass in a sort of salute and downing the contents. It burned his throat with familiar warmth, matching the unfamiliar warmth burning in his chest. This was all he’d wanted ever since he’d been a boy, and now he didn’t want it to end.

**Author's Note:**

> (and then things lapse into drinking games and mistletoe abuse. The Pontmercy's end up leaving at half ten, despite what Marius said, and Courf and Jehan don't leave 'til gone 2 - Blake having been asleep in the guest room for most of the evening, with a baby monitor set by the fire place. At one point they discover that you could track Santa's progress round the globe, which somehow gets turned into a drinking game - and everyone wakes up Christmas morning with more of a hangover than they'd anticipated).  
> =  
> Come find me on [Tumblr](http://trenchcoatsandtimetravel.tumblr.com/) for more headcanons and explanations and stuff :)


End file.
